


Requiem

by olehistorian



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olehistorian/pseuds/olehistorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tragedy befalls Downton and Miss Baxter helps Mr. Carson cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

November, 1924

"Mr. Carson, they're ready for her," Miss Baxter informs him in that quiet way of hers. She clasps his arm. Feels nothing. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move. He's been like this for hours.

"Dr. Clarkson said it was a heart attack," he tells her as he absentmindedly turns the chatelaine over and over between his fingers. Rubbing it for comfort. Miss Baxter says nothing, pats his arm in sympathy. "It wasn't you know," he says looking up at her, jaw set, confident of his statement.

"Now Mr. Carson, Dr. Clarkson wouldn't have said it if it weren't true," Miss Baxter tries to reassure him, kind eyes smiling back at him. She wants him to remember that Dr. Clarkson said that she didn't suffer, likely passed in her sleep. He gives her a sad, half-smile of thanks. Doesn't believe her or Dr. Clarkson but thinks that Mrs. Hughes was right to suggest that Miss Baxter would make a good replacement for her when they retired, if they retired. Someday.

He shifts his eyes, sad eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, back to the still figure lying a top the bed. The sheets not turned back, she is still fully clothed, save only for her shoes. Looks as if she's just sleeping except that the color has drained from her face. The only pigment that marks her is a touch of rouge and lip stain; he'd meant to mention that he liked whatever she'd done different. He never did. I'm just going for a lie down she had told them. He had told her to go, rest. Known she looked tired, drawn. "It broke her heart," he finishes sadly.

"What, Mr. Carson? What broke her heart?" Miss Baxter asks. Suspects she knows. The housekeeper hadn't been the same since they had taken Anna, her girl, away that night. Since that awful Detective Vyner had had been so nasty and vile in his treatment of them. She had been a mere shell of herself after what they had done to Anna, terrorizing her all over again. Perhaps Elsie Hughes had died of a broken heart. If people could die of broken hearts.

He leans over from the chair that he is sitting in and places his hand over her cold one. Only this morning she had buttered his toast and had a sharp retort for him. He had loved her for it. "Why did you leave me," he asks her quietly. Miss Baxter turns away from him. Gives them a private moment, feels that she may be intruding but she has business to attend and he doesn't ask her to leave.

"Mr. Carson, you'll want to select something for the service," she says opening the wardrobe that keeps the housekeeper's clothes safe. Looks through them, gently touches the beautiful coats that she collected over the years. Her only real indulgence she had once said.

"That's a husband's right," he says bitterly, his hand still resting upon hers. Miss Baxter turns to face them, this couple unmarried by law, married in their hearts. He's drawn her lifeless hand between his two and up to his lips, her chatelaine clasped between them, the keys, chains dangling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says over and over. He knows that she cannot hear him but he needs absolution. "December, in December," he says brushing his lips to her fingers. "I had the ring, Elsie. For Christmas."

Miss Baxter wants to turn away from this intimate scene. This husband grieving his wife. It is her job to retreat into the shadows, to pretend not to hear, to see, the goings on of her mistress, of those in her care. She's seen so many things over the years that she has squirreled away in secret corners of her mind. Arguments, infidelities, indiscretions of all sorts.

"You can still give it to her," she offers quietly not sure if he's even listening.

He turns sharply toward her. "What?" he barks, his hurt reverberating through the silence of the room.

"You can still give her the ring, Mr. Carson."

"What good would it do now?" He is angry, she is unsure if he is angry with her or at himself or perhaps everything.

"Everyone knew…" she begins before he cuts her off

"What does everyone know?" She is afraid that she has pushed him too far that he will well and truly break. She says nothing more.

She turns toward the dressing table and gathers some things that the men from the funeral home will need to take with them. She gathers hairpins, a pot of lip stain, necessities. She catches them in the mirror as she looks up. He is reaching into his waistcoat pocket and fishes out a handkerchief. He unfolds it revealing a gold band. Miss Baxter watches as he carefully slips the ring onto the housekeeper's right ring finger and kisses it. He lovingly places her hand across her chest and whispers a last few words only for them to share. Miss Baxter drops her eyes. She knows that she has been witness to a holy sacrament.

"Miss Baxter," his voice is calm now and he is standing. "If you would choose the sweater and skirt that she wore to the seashore that day. I think that she would like that."


End file.
